Dreaming
by CorellianBlue
Summary: Han. Leia. Dreaming. Fantasising. In a hot and sticky summer. (One from back in 1999. Tightened up on 23 August 2015, but still the same insight into my obsessive mind. Set between ANH and ESB.)


**Dreaming**

 **by CorellianBlue**

"Han?"

A female voice—her voice—quietly calling his name. Insistent yet soothing. Confident, whispering tones.

"Han?"

His head turns slowly to look at her, look _up_ at her. She floats above him, suspended in the dusky sky, her lips curving into an approving smile. Her image glows above him, shimmering and insubstantial. There is a translucent quality to her skin. She appears ghostly, wraith-like. He can't breathe, won't breathe; he is frightened the slightest exhalation, the softest whisper of his breath, will be enough to extinguish her presence, and scatter the substance of her being like pollen in the wind.

Gradually, she solidifies. Her eyes, sultry-dark with promise and carefully nurtured secrets, are a smoldering contrast to the moonlight reflecting off her skin. Long cinnamon hair cascades down her back and around her shoulders, tumbling down to not-quite cover her gently swaying breasts.

Entranced, he lies trapped beneath her gaze, his mind a mess of incoherent pleasure. Her body slides down onto his, her warmth enveloping him. It is a delicious, shivering, devouring sensation. He tentatively traces the outline of her slender torso, hands gently caressing the angle of hips and thighs. Her flesh comes to rest moistly against his and her eyes close under heavy lids. He groans, sighs with appreciation and with long repressed desire.

He has dreamed of this moment. Lain awake at night, alone in his bunk, wondering what this could be—would be—like. Until now it had been just that—a dream. A crazy fantasy of a frustrated, over-sexed, obsessed spacer. But this _must_ be real. His senses are invigorated, bewitched. No dream could _feel_ like this. He pushes away the doubts that threaten his mind.

Her legs are folded up on either side of his hips. Her eyes flicker open, lips twitching mischievously.

"Looks like I finally have you where I want you," she tells him.

His tongue is thick and clumsy in his mouth. His mind becomes a blank and he fumbles for a quick-witted response. He wants to tell her he always knew there would be benefits to serving under her. Wants to tell her how beautiful she is, how wonderful she feels. Wants to tell her how much he has longed for this moment.

But she is stroking the muscles of his chest, her fingers playing with the soft hair she finds there and brushing across his nipples. Words fail him. His skin tingles at her touch and a shiver of pure lust spikes through him. He swallows, his throat dry and tight.

"Leia," he mumbles inadequately.

The sound of her easy laughter calms his thoughts, eases his tension, and a wry grin settles across his face. His hands caress her thighs, her buttocks, the small of her back. She feels good, so good. He aches for her.

"Lost for words, Solo?" she teases, gently pushing the hair from his forehead. "If I had known this was all it would take to shut you up, I might have done this sooner."

His eyes close as her fingertips trail the side of his cheek, and when he opens them he finds her face is close to his. She kisses him, her mouth open and moving against his, her breath sweet and inviting. He compliantly follows her lead and returns the kiss, his mouth accepting her forceful tongue. Her hair falls about their faces and the fresh scent of her fills his nostrils, pervading the very fabric of his being. His senses are overwhelmed.

 _How did this happen? How did we—she—get here?_

The idea is a fleeting wisp of fog, disappearing the moment it is chased. But there are her hands again...so soft, tantalising. Does it really matter how this began? She is finally here, in his arms, and doing all the things he has dreamed of her doing for so long. He won't doubt the reality of this for a moment longer. He can't afford to.

With her hands firm against his chest, she pushes herself upright so that she towers above him. Her hands cover the backs of his and she drags them up to her breasts, encouraging him to cup her in his palms. Her skin is silk in his fingers. He wets his lips in anticipation of taking her breasts in his mouth, of tasting the heat of her body.

Smiling, she asks, "Where have you been all my life?"

The weight of her against him provides him with the sense to respond. "Right under your eyes. Waiting."

Delight and affection tinge her laughter, and she tilts her chin provocatively. "A bit like now, wouldn't you say?"

He wants to shake his head in wonder. _Where has this woman come from?_ _Is this really Leia?_

He feels as if he is a teenager with a girl for the first time, giddy with strange new emotions and sensations. He momentarily doubts he knows his way around a woman's body— _this_ woman's body. He has watched her from a distance for nearly two Standard years, only able to imagine what she looks like beneath the virginal senatorial robes and the severe Rebel uniform. He has wanted this for so long it has begun to inundate his waking thoughts as well as his dreams. And he has the feeling that she too has yearned for the same thing.

She is staring deep into his eye, and he can hear her speak although her lips remain closed. She tells him she has dreamed of this moment, to feel his body pressed against hers. She is tired of maintaining the pretense she does not care for him. For too long she has been afraid to reveal these emotions and unleash her passions. She has barricaded herself behind her sense of duty and responsibility, and her own personal war against the Empire. Everyone, everything she has ever loved and considered precious has been brutally taken from her. She does not want to lose him, too. And perhaps she has been afraid that he does not feel the same for her. Yet the time is right. This will be the first night of the rest of her life.

An unfamiliar wave of euphoria swells up from deep within his chest and ripples across his soul. He is profoundly touched by how much of herself she has revealed to him. She is as beautiful in strength and spirit as she is of face.

The words flow instinctively from his lips. "I love you, Leia."

Her fingertips stroke his lips and she smiles, just for him. "I know, Han," she whispers. "I love you, too. I always have."

Astride him, she begins a slow, sensual, rhythmic motion. Her long hair brushes past her open lips as her head dips, her neck stretches. His hands drop to her hips and he slowly lifts her up, allowing her to move back down onto his body by herself. She leans down and kisses him deeply, her hands running through his hair, her hips continuing to sway. His hands slide up her body, collect her breasts and bring them to his mouth. His lips caress each delicate nipple, drawing the desire and excitement from her body into his.

Her thrusting increases. She is consumed with her need for him and her own pleasure, and yet her hands never stop stroking him, caressing and squeezing the muscles of his shoulders, his arms, his chest, gliding down across his flat stomach. He writhes beneath her with unabashed hunger for her. Both of them crave release, but both never want this delicious torture to end.

The moments and sensations ensnare… ardent gasps of fire and fervor, the taste of lips and mouths and skin, the musky scent of lovemaking, their bodies joined as one, skin on skin—

 _ **BAM!**_

Han's eyes flew open and he lurched upright in his bunk.

 _Thump_ _thump_ _THUMP!_ against the bulkhead.

A loud Wookiee howl carried through the closed hatch to his cabin, concerned and questioning. The adrenalin coursing through his system helped Han to quickly orientate himself. He rubbed a hand across his flushed face and through his sweat-slicked hair. Perspiration beaded his skin and the air in the small cabin was stifling. The ship's environmental control systems had certainly picked a fine night to go persnickety; mid-summer on the backwater planet of Kurrijiong was yet another reason that kept the tourists away.

"I'm _fine_ , Chewie!" Han hollered blearily to his partner. "Go back to sleep."

A low growl escaped Han as he realised he'd been dreaming—fantasising—again. Apparently loud enough to disturb Chewie, although with the Wookiee's sensitive hearing Han hadn't necessarily been too noisy, just loud enough to be embarrassing. He didn't doubt his partner would tease him mercilessly over the next few days.

Han's growl turned into a whimper as he rolled over onto his stomach and hugged the pillow. _Damn._ Almost every night for a week, Leia had visited him while he'd slept. And he'd had the best sex of his life in those dreams.

But not all of his the dreams had been about him and Leia in his bunk or her bed. Sometimes he dreamed of simple things—like walking along a deserted beach with Leia's hand in his, their toes squishing through the sand as they strolled along the water's edge, enjoying the pleasure of each other's company. He had also dreamed about watching her braid her hair, fascinated by her skillful fingers.

Han really couldn't take much more of this.

Angrily kicking the sheets off his hot legs, he was hyper-aware of the pulsing ache in his groin, the stiffness pressed hard against the mattress. His skin prickled with heat, sweat and the echo of Leia's touch.

 _Why Leia?_ he moaned inwardly, his face pressed into the pillow. There were more alluring, seductive and attainable women among the ranks of the rebel troops: a few whom he'd approached but had turned down his proposition, a few whom had approached him but he had been interested, and a few women he'd actually slept with. So why Leia? Why now, after all this time?

Yes, she was an attractive young woman, quick-witted and feisty enough for him, and he enjoyed her company when she wasn't preaching the Alliance creed to him. But she was a princess, for Kest's sake! A spoiled child of the Royal House of Alderaan. The thought of a princess—not just this princess, but _any_ princess—and a guy like him...well, that wasn't just a dream. That was an impossibility. And yet...what was it about this petite young woman that had recently piqued his interest?

' _Interest', Solo?_ he asked himself sceptically. _You call this 'interest'? Lately, you can't think of anything_ but _her. You're acting like a love-sick kid._

 _Love…_ He hadn't really told her that he loved her. He'd only dreamed he had. Just another part of his fantasy.

Han knew he didn't love her. He _liked_ her and desired her sexually, but any more than that and he'd be deluding himself. And Leia.

Maybe he'd dreamed that he told her he loved her to convince her into his bunk; he'd certainly told other woman an awful lot of things to get them into bed. But he'd never actually said _those_ words: I love you. He would certainly never use those words for his own benefit and to play with someone's emotions. Even he had his limits.

" _I love you, too."_ The sound of her voice echoed in his mind. _"I always have…"_

Sometimes when he caught her looking at him, he could almost imagine maybe she _did_ feel something more for him than friendship. Whether it was love, though...

Han punched at the pillow and ground his teeth together. _This is ridiculous! Kest, I don't wanna marry her,_ he thought angrily, dismissing his self-doubts. _I just wanna screw her!_ He pushed a hand through his hair again and sighed. _But there are far easier targets around here than that one. Let it go. Unlock and re-aim._

Restlessly turning over onto his back, Han thumped the bulkhead with a clenched fist and settled his legs back onto the mattress. The heat was obviously getting to him. What he needed was a solid night's sleep, free of interruptions from Wookiees and princesses.

He closed his eyes, trying to clear the jumble of images from his mind. His legs twitched uneasily in the stillness and he rolled onto his side in a vain attempt to find some relief. Despite the heat, he dragged the pillow across his face and wrapped his arms around his head. He sighed again, trying to relax.

 _Forget about her, Solo,_ he chided himself. _You don't need that kinda trouble._

For long, oppressive moments he lay on his bunk, listening to his own heavy breathing and trying not to imagine where Leia was at that point in time.

The ECS finally kicked in again with a _whump_ , sending a cool breeze skittering across his naked body. It succeeded in cooling the temperature of his burning skin, but not the effect of his dream.

 _Just a dream,_ he told herself. _Just a stupid dream._

 _ **VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV**_

Leia knows she is dreaming, but she doesn't care. Her eyes are closed, but she knows where she is.

It is night. A summer's night, for there is still a lazy warmth left over from the late afternoon sun. She lies on the familiar softness of her bed, a deep pillow cradling her head. Somewhere a cool breeze has entered through an open window and caresses her skin. In the near distance, she hears the laughter from a dinner party that she should be attending. And over that, a colony of krickers chirps in the heat of the night.

 _Alderaan,_ Leia whispers to herself. _Home._

Slowly, tentatively lest the dream disappear, Leia opens her eyes. She stares at the canopy above her bed, her gaze skimming across the cascading fabric. Soft light from the illumes outside the widow bathe the room in a glowing blue-white. With her eyes open, she can now focus on the voices. Her ears strain to discern the voice of her father. Logically, she knows she shouldn't be able to hear the conversation in the room used for intimate dinner parties, for it is located on the other side of the palace and three levels down from her personal suite. Regardless, she hears the baritone of Bail Organa and his loud chuckle makes her smile.

Home. She is home. Home and safe.

Beneath the covers, Leia wriggles her toes and closes her eyes again, luxuriating in the simplicity of the dream. Her dreams of Alderaan are seldom so peaceful and carefree, so she makes the most of this. She drifts, floating on remembrances that have long since passed.

There is another presence in her room—in her dream. It is a familiar presence and one Leia knows well, yet there is also something slightly threatening. She props herself up on her elbows and searches the room.

He stands in front of a window, hips casually tilted, arms hanging loose by his side. The heavy blaster pistol is absent from his side. Illuminated from behind, his face is in shadows and unreadable, but she can tell he is staring at her intently. The pulse flicks in her throat and in her core.

Despite herself, Leia speaks his name. "Han."

Han steps into the light, moves towards her, and she finally sees his face. The intensity in his eyes diminishes and he smiles his lopsided smile. Her stomach flips the way it always does whenever he smiles at her like that. But she can't let him know the effect he has on her.

"What are you doing here?" she quietly asks.

He stops suddenly, yet his smile broadens at her defensive tone. "You invited me."

"I invited you?" Her voice quavers at the thought he might really know how she feels. "Why should I invite you into my bedroom?" _…into my dream?_

Han half-shrugs and moves towards the bed again. "So I anticipated the invitation. You want me here, don't you?"

She shakes her head. "You can't stay."

"Why not?"

She responds quickly, before she has time to formulate a reason why he needs to leave and before he can convince her otherwise. "My father—"

"Are you afraid of what your father will think?"

"No!" she cries out. Her denial echoes off the walls and she averts her gaze. "No," she says more quietly. Then her eyes return defiantly to his. "I'm not afraid of anything."

"You don't scare easily, Leia," Han agrees. "You're one tough lady."

She folds her arms across her chest, not pleased with his teasing tone.

"But you're afraid of something," he continues. He stops at the end of her bed, places his hands on his hips and suggests, "Me maybe?"

"You?!"

"Okay, maybe not me," he concedes. His brows rise in consideration. "Maybe you're afraid that you've fallen in love with me."

She counters his warm hazel gaze with a withering glare. "Now you're being absurd."

"Am I?"

The honesty and sincerity on his face is unfamiliar to her. For a moment she feels flustered and stumbles to respond.

"W-why should…should…I-I d-don't—"

"Don't what?"

The tenderness in his voice calms her racing thoughts and heart. She returns his solemn gaze.

"I don't," she tells him. "I just don't."

The smile slides up his face. "Let me, then."

Entranced, she watches him shed his vest, then slip the shirt over his head. His gaze momentarily leaves hers as he deliberately places the clothing at the foot of her bed. She studies the strong lines of his upper body, aware of the sudden increase in her pulse as her eyes move over him—the broad shoulders and muscular arms, the fine hair across his chest, tapering down to a flat stomach and slender waist. She has seen him shirtless on numerous occasions—mostly from a distance, sometimes at close range, infrequently with the luxury of stealth to cover her study.

She continues to watch as he scuffs the boots from his feet, unbuckles the belt and pushes his trousers to the floor. The sight of him, naked in front of her, makes her ache. She wonders how it would feel to touch him, to be held by him. Wonders how it would feel to press her face against his chest and to feel his arms around her.

Han kneels at the end of the bed, then moves towards her on all fours, hazel eyes golden with desire, feline and hungry.

Somehow he is under the covers with her, above her, kissing her. His mouth tastes hot and sweet. His hands, like fire brands, move across her body, caressing her arms, her breasts, her hips. Her legs compliantly part to accommodate his body. Then he is inside her, a part of her, and he begins his slow, stretching rhythm.

Staring at each other, entranced with each other, they move as one. The sensations and emotions well up from deep within her. She has never had a lover before and yet she intuitively knows how it should feel. And it feels like fulfillment.

Their bodies roll, tumble, and then she is above him. Absorbed with the sight of him lying beneath her, she ignores a loud thumping noise sounding from outside the window. However as she has come to expect of this cautious man, Han's head turns towards the sound and he is momentarily distracted.

"Han? Han?"

She smiles as his attention returns to her. As he lies beneath her, there is something different about the way he looks; his face seems younger, unguarded.

She slides herself down onto his body, enjoying the sensation of the emptiness inside her being filled. His hands move down her sides to her hips as she slowly sinks onto him. Her body comes to a gentle stop, pressed against his. Her eyes close and she hears him utter a contented groan.

Her eyes open to find him staring back at her, enraptured. To her, he seems like another person—not the over confident, arrogant smuggler who swaggers his way around the Rebel base. It is so strange to see him like this, dumbstruck, without a quick, sarcastic remark leaping from his mouth.

"Looks like I finally have you where I want you," she tells him.

Her fingers run up his forearm, squeeze his biceps, then along the prominent clavicle and down his chest, relishing the different shapes and textures of his skin.

"Leia," he mutters.

She chuckles fondly, and the laughter brings a crooked grin to his lips. Work-roughened hands move over her thighs, her buttocks and to the small of her back.

She pushes the hair from his forehead and asks, "Lost for words, Solo? If I had known this was all it would take to shut you up, I might have done this sooner."

Wanting to feel every part of him, she gently touches his cheek, fingers brushing down the faint shadow of stubble. His eyes close longingly. Her fingers stop near his mouth and she has an uncontrollable urge to feel his lips against hers, to taste him again, to experience as much pleasure as he can give. Staring at his full lips, she leans down close to his face. His eyes open and she kisses him, her tongue moving inside his mouth as she cradles the sides of his face.

The kiss, and the control she had over him, enhances her desire. She rises above him, astride him, and pulls his hands to her breasts. His hot palms firmly cup her. Her craving increases, and she knows she is nearing a point of pleasure that she has never experienced before. Yet above all this, she is amazed at how quickly this has happened between them, how wonderful this dream is…particularly when there is nothing like this between them in reality.

Leia feels compelled to express this inconsistency. "Where have you been all my life?"

His answer surprises her. "Right under your eyes. Waiting."

She laughs at the truth in his response. "A bit like now, wouldn't you say?"

Leia stretches out with her feelings and it is as if she can read his mind. She senses that he has also dreamed of this moment, but she decides that she had already guessed that. Han Solo has never hidden the fact that he has an avid sexual appetite.

And then it hits her deep in her stomach. She has also dreamed of this moment. She has yearned to feel his body pressed hard against hers.

Leia is suddenly weary of the pretense and she aches with the feelings she has for him. And it scares her. It has been too easy for her to hide behind her duty and her responsibility. Too easy for her to ignore her emotions and her passions. Far too easy for her to run away and hide, less she lose him like she lost Alderaan.

And what if he doesn't return these emotions that she feels for him? What if he rejects her?

But for now, she decides the time is right. Tonight is the first night of the rest of her life.

Han smiles for her and tells her, "I love you, Leia."

His simple words ignited something deep inside her. She smiles and touches his lips. "I know, Han. I love you, too. I always have."

Astride him, she begins a slow, sensual, rhythmic motion. Her long hair brushes past her open lips as her head dips, her neck stretches. His hands drop to her hips and he slowly lifts her up, allowing her to move back down onto his body by herself. She leans down and kisses him deeply, her hands running through his hair, her hips continuing to sway. His hands slide up her body, collect her breasts and bring them to his mouth. His lips caress each delicate nipple, drawing the desire and excitement from her body into his.

Her thrusting increases. She is consumed with her need for him and her own pleasure, and yet her hands never stop stroking him, caressing and squeezing the muscles of his shoulders, his arms, his chest, gliding down across his flat stomach. He writhes beneath her with unabashed hunger for her. Both of them crave release, but both never want this delicious torture to end.

The moments and sensations ensnare… ardent gasps of fire and fervor, the taste of lips and mouths and skin, the musky scent of lovemaking, their bodies joined as one, skin on skin—

 _ **BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!**_

Leia wearily swatted a hand in the direction of the bedside chrono and missed the operating sensor. The chrono continued its incessant, high-pitched alarm. Now with eyes open, she tried again and was successful in rendering the timepiece silent. She lay there for a moment, breathing heavily, waiting for her heart to calm its racing pace. Something twinged in the pit in her stomach.

 _Just a dream,_ she told herself. _Just a stupid dream._

Leia dropped an arm across her face and she realised she was shaking. Why had the chrono's alarm caught her off-guard? Usually she awoke just before it sounded. Had she been so absorbed in her dream that she had forgotten about everything else?

Leia rolled her head, looked at the chrono's readout and abruptly sat up. It was nearly four hours before the alarm was scheduled to sound. She found the sensor for the lights, activated it and checked out the alarm's setting. It was set for four hours hence, just as it should be. So why had it gone off now?

Her mouth and throat suddenly dry, Leia drank from the flask on the bedside table, holding the container with both hands. She shivered in the room's artificial coolness, grateful for it, knowing that outside the door, the heat of Kurrijiong would be oppressive.

Gradually, the pulse stopped thumping in her neck. She returned the flask to the table, turned off the lights and settled down under the covers again. An image of Han flashed through her mind. She screwed her eyes shut, but the vision persisted.

 _Why,_ she asked herself, _of all the eligible men on this base, do I have to dream about him? I don't even_ like _him!_ There had to be some logical explanation for her to be fantasising about Han Solo.

Then it occurred to her: the cause of her dream. Yesterday. It was what she had seen yesterday.

She had gone for a walk away from the transportable huts and hangars of the rebel base, looking for a small water feature a scout had been located nearby. She'd headed out over the ochre-colored ridge and low scrub that surrounded the base, hoping the cool, rock-enclosed spring would ease the terrible headaches that the oppressive heat caused her. The walk had not been long or overly difficult, merely hot and dusty. Although the ridge was pock-marked and gouged with ancient water holes, all were dry, and she doubted any rain had fallen in this region over the last few Standard years.

Eventually she had climbed to the highest point of the ridge and looked back down at the expanse of camouflaged hangars and huts, all covered over in an extensive counter-measure shield. There was no spring here, she had decided. Either the forward scout had been mistaken, or Leia had gone the wrong way. Then she had heard it—the faintest splash of water.

Leia had eased herself down a few steps of rock and peered through a crevice. There, not twenty metres from where she sat perched, a pocket of water glimmered in the late afternoon sun. The pool lay nestled in a basin carved from the rock and measured no more than ten metres across. Its surface rippled and reflected flickers of light as a swimmer moved beneath it, then broke through with a gush of breath. She had recognised him immediately. The swimmer was Han.

For a moment she had nearly called out to him, but as he had seemed unaware of her presence, she instead took the opportunity to covertly watch him. Hidden behind an outcrop of rock, she had watched as long overarm strokes carried him the length of the pool and back. The water was cloudy with disturbed silt, allowing only glimpses of his body as he swam along, legs kicking powerfully.

When he came to the edge of the pool for the third time, he had stopped for a moment, searching for a step or a ledge. Then he stood up, rising from the pool as the water sluiced down his naked body. Leia's immediate thought had been, _I shouldn't be looking_. But that hadn't stopped her. She had watched as he had turned in the hot sunshine, pushing the water from his hair, allowing her the chance to appreciate the lean lines and muscles of his body. She realized that even now, just remembering this encounter, she could still recall the echoes of what she had felt, what her body had felt…

 _Enough!_ Leia pulled the pillow across her face. _Enough._

She didn't have the time to be thinking about nonsense such as this. It was simply a dream. A stupid dream fuelled by a juvenile experience that was unworthy of her. All of it originating, she suspected, from the strange moods she had been experiencing lately. So what if Han Solo happened to be the spark that ignited her more basic emotions? There was no question he was a sensual, handsome man. Leia knew she wasn't the only female on base who appreciated the way his hips and backside filled out his trousers.

But it was nothing more than that. Nothing.

She didn't have the sort of feelings for him that she had professed in her dream. And she knew for certain that he—an arrogant, egotistical, selfish, no-good smuggler—would never feel, let alone express, the depth of emotion for her as he had in her dream. _Nothing._

Leia pulled the covers up around her shoulders. _Relax,_ she told herself. _Relax, and forget about it. There are more important things to concentrate on. More important things to worry about._

For long, oppressive moments she lay in her bed, listening to her own heavy breathing and trying not to imagine where Han was at that point in time.

The refrigerated temperature in the room was unsuccessful in cooling the effect of her dream.

 _Just a dream,_ she told herself. _Just a stupid dream._

Leia tipped the mug of kaffe towards her mouth and sipped at the steaming bitter liquid, all the while maintaining her focus on the datapad in front of her. She pushed a fork through the remains of an early breakfast. As it was still a good two hours before shift change and the official start of the base's day, the mess hall was nearly deserted. Only a few chairs at the long rows of tables were taken by techs, ordnance staff and other uniformed personnel. Leia had eaten her breakfast in relative solitude, though she had found the report on the datapad more palatable than the processed mush on her plate.

Her eyes moved to the mug she held, and she considered the chipped and bitten nails on her fingers. She should be taking better care of herself, she thought. Eating better. Sleeping more. Banishing ridiculous fantasies from her mind.

Her gaze was distracted by a newcomer to the mess hall and despite the distance, their eyes met as he ambled towards the food dispensing unit. Leia averted her eyes from his hazel stare, immediately aware of the rush of adrenalin through her system. _Trust the man to have insomnia at the same time I do!_

Leia turned her attention back to the datapad, staring at the screen but not reading the words, trying to watch Han's movements in the periphery on her vision. _Please don't let him sit here,_ she chanted to herself. _Not here._

She lost sight of him as he collected something from one of the food dispensers, and for a moment she thought he had taken a seat some distance from her. Then she heard bootsteps approaching her, tapping on the tiled floor, and she knew he was heading in her direction. The blood pounded through her veins.

She sensed more than saw him move down a row only two or three across from hers, place a mug on the table and assume a seat at a slight angle from her.

 _Read the report,_ she told herself. _Ignore him and read the damn report._

The words scrolled across the screen but their meaning was lost to her. She seemed aware only of the way her stomach pitched and churned, the hammering of her pulse and the shortness of breath that had struck. Images from her dream—and her visit to the water hole—washed through her. Then came the terrible thought that she was being rude. That he knew she knew he was there, and because he was a friend she should acknowledge his presence. She should at least be polite, look up and say hello. She could do that much, couldn't she? Or would he always have this terrifying effect on her?

Leia took a deep, cleansing breath and placed her mug on the table. She willed her fingers to stop shaking and, as casually as she could manage, looked up in his direction. Her mouth opened slightly in dismay. His mug sat on the table, a wisp of steam curling from its contents, but the chair was empty. How could he have left so quietly, without her hearing? And what had made him leave so suddenly without even touching his drink?

From her chair, Leia scanned the mess hall. A few more people had entered in the last few minutes, but it was still relatively empty. She saw him striding across the hall, through the maze of chairs and tables, heading towards the entrance. His back was firmly set towards her, but she could tell from the hardness in his shoulders and the way his hand clenched above his blaster that he was agitated. She wondered what had caused this reaction in him, seriously doubting he was perturbed by her ignoring him; his customary response to that was to annoy her more than usual.

She hoped he would turn his head, look back and see she was searching for him. But he didn't. He continued on towards the sliding doors that opened at his approach and marched through without a backward glance.

And then he was gone.


End file.
